I Won't Be Swayed, English version
by Michelle Mercy
Summary: Sequel to Bring Him Home. Javert resigns from the police without telling Valjean. Slash, and a bit too? sentimental


I Won't Be Swayed

**I Won't Be Swayed**

Translated into English by the amazing Yamx

Javert was standing on the bridge and staring at the Seine. It felt a little like the last two times he had stood here, except for the minor difference that it was the middle of the day and he had no intention of jumping. Only a few weeks ago, he had wanted to end his life, and now this thought was further from his mind than ever before.

What a difference a few weeks made!

A few weeks ago, he had had his work, and nothing more. Now he shared his life with the very ex-convict he had been hunting for decades, they had moved in together, and he had to find a way to reorder his life. There was no room for his work anymore; he had realized that when Valjean had brought him back from Toulon.

He could not live with Valjean and do his duty, which forced him to arrest Valjean. He could not possibly life a lie everyday. So there was only one option: he had to choose and give up one or the other.

He had thought about it for a whole second, had weighed love and duty against each other, and made his choice. He could live without his duty, but never without Valjean.

Nevertheless, the thing he had to do now was anything but easy. Out of the fifty-two years of his life, he had been a policeman for more than thirty-five. A few weeks ago, he had tried to take the coward's way out. Now he would finish it in a way that took a lot of backbone.

Before he had any chance to waver in his decision, Javert forced himself to think back to that morning, to Valjean sitting up in bed next to him.

"I have to get going," he whispered. "You know, I have this appointment with Cosette and Marius."

"I know." Javert was looking at Valjean's body – every muscle, every scar, the brand. He knew every square inch of this body, and what he really wanted was for Valjean to simply pull him close. But he knew there would not be another opportunity like this anytime soon, so he needed Valjean to leave the house.

Had Valjean known what Javert was planning, he would have tried to talk him out of it. He would not want Javert to give up something important to him for Valjean's sake. Such a discussion would have been pointless. Javert would tell him afterwards.

Javert straightened, threw a last glance at the Seine, crossed the rest of the bridge, and entered the Palais de Justice. He tried to ignore the stares. Of course people were confused, even shocked, by his sudden appearance. Just a few weeks ago, they had read his obituary, and now he was striding past the policemen.

No one stopped him, no one asked where he was going. Why would they? He had always been so distant that no one dared to approach him now.

Javert arrived at the Prefect's office. "I would like to talk with M. le Prefect for a few minutes," he told the secretary.

The secretary did not reply; he simply got up and hastened into M. Gisquet's office without taking his terrified eyes off Javert even for a second. Apparently, he considered it prudent not to turn one's back on a ghost.

Only a few seconds later, the door opened and the Prefect himself was standing there. "Javert – you certainly have a talent for surprise," Gisquet said. "I thought you were dead."

"No, M. le Prefect, I am alive," Javert replied stiffly.

"I can see that. Come on in." Gisquet closed the door behind Javert. "What the devil have you done? You made everyone think you had thrown yourself into the river in a fit of madness."

"What led you to that conclusion?" Javert's voice was trembling only slightly, almost imperceptibly.

"You wrote that strange letter, and the same night we found your badge, your nightstick, and your hat on the parapet of that bridge, and your shoes in front of them."

"Those weren't my shoes," Javert said out of an overwhelming need to tell the truth; he was trying not to think about Valjean walking around Paris in stockinged feet for two days.

"And then we found the, admittedly very mangled, body of a tall man in the Seine."

"Obviously not mine."

"Fortunately not," Gisquet nodded. He picked his next words carefully. "Of course I understand that you were in some disarray after what happened on the barricades, Javert. That explains that very peculiar letter you wrote to me, and leaving your things behind. You probably needed some time to find yourself again."

To find myself _again_? Javert thought. No, it's more that I needed time to warm an escaped convict's bed and to recognize he was what had been missing in my life.

"I'd suggest that you take up your duties again tomorrow." Gisquet opened the top drawer of his desk. "I kept this here, because I didn't know where to send it. There are no next of kin mentioned in your file." He threw Javert's badge on the desk.

Javert stared at it, baffled. He was here to close that chapter of his life, but Gisquet did not seem to understand that fact. "I'm afraid that's impossible, M. le Prefect."

"Is tomorrow too early? Gisquet raised his eyebrows. "If you need more time, I'll give it to you – put I will have to put you on half pay."

"I don't think you understand. I cannot possible continue in the force. I resign." Suddenly, Javert felt perfectly calm and certain. He had not hesitated even for a moment.

"You simply can't do that." Gisquet sounded almost desperate. "This is your life."

"This _was_ my life," Javert corrected.

"But why? What happened to you? Surely, those rebellious schoolboys didn't make an impression on you?"

"No, definitely not." What could he say to the Prefect? He could not exactly tell him the truth. "Let's just say, I realized that I have to make changes in my life. And it was the events on the barricade that drove that point home to me." This was actually a loose version of the truth.

"So you really are serious?"

"Yes."

"And you do realize that you will not receive any more pay if you leave now?"

"Of course."

"Then I pray to God that you know what you're doing, Javert."

"Thank you, M. le Prefect." Javert clicked his heels.

When he left the building, Javert was not fully certain if he really knew what he had done. He was no longer a police inspector, he had no income, and all bridges to his old life were irrevocably burned.

Doubts began to gnaw at him. The gnawing was so distracting that Javert did not even notice a young sergeant named Lucien Danois watching him with devoted admiration as he walked along on of the corridors.

Javert blinked in the bright July sun, paused, blinked again and walked onto the bridge he had been standing on less than an hour ago.

Valjean was leaning against the parapet in a pointedly relaxed fashion; he was flipping through the _Moniteur_, clearly bored.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Javert snapped at him.

"I thought you'd be glad to see me once you had that behind you." Valjean smiled at him disarmingly.

"How did you know what I was going to do?"

Valjean sighed. "Why do you think I managed to escape you again and again for over twenty years? Because I know how your brain works."

"Still, you shouldn't have come here. Lounging about in front of the Palais de Justice is no less crazy than going to Toulon."

"I know."

Javert shook his head disapprovingly. "Could we just take a walk? I have no interest in hanging around on this bridge."

"Certainly." Valjean folded up the _Moniteur_. They left the bridge and walked towards the riverbank. "How are you feeling?"

"Sad. Scared." Javert was not used to analyzing his emotions, and the third feeling was completely alien to him. "Free."

"I know how much your work meant to you. It would be hard for me to accept if you'd done it for me."

Javert considered this for a moment. "I did it for us."

For a moment, both men stopped and looked to the quay. Neither one could pass the place where Valjean had pulled Javert from the water without getting lost in memories for a bit.

"How was your morning?" Javert asked once they started walking again.

Valjean threw him a sidelong glance. He understood that Javert needed to be distracted right now. "It's all sorted out. My fortune, or rather M. Madeleine's, has been divided into three unequal parts. 70,000 francs for Cosette, 30,000 for us, and the rest to found a charity for women and children in need."

Javert nodded. Valjean had been talking of nothing else lately, prompting him to refer to him as "St. Jean" more than once.

"All we need now is a name," Valjean continued. "Cosette insists on using mine, but we can't exactly use 'Valjean,' and 'Fauchelevent' is not my name. Both Cosette and Marius refuse 'Pontmercy foundation'."

"Well, this is really simple," Javert replied. His memory conjured up a face, the face of a desperate, dying woman. "There's only one name you can give the foundation. Fantine."

Valjena stared at him for several seconds. "That's brilliant. God, why didn't I think of that?"

"So you'll see I'm actually good for something." Javert's smile was a mere flicker. "I don't know if you realize that I don't have any income now that I've resigned."

"Yes, of course I realize that." Valjean was not sure what Javert was getting at.

"You will have to support me financially," Javert said almost meekly.

Valjean flinched. He had known, of course, that quitting the police force was a big step for Javert; but he had not considered the fact that Javert was giving up financial independence and would have to rely on Valjean's money. That had to feel humiliating. "I hope you realize that everything that's mine is yours," he said at once.

"Yes, of course, I know, but…" Javert shrugged helplessly.

"But it's different for you," Valjean stated calmly. "I'd gladly give you every sou I still own if I thought you'd take it."

"I couldn't."

"I know. Your pride won't let you." He smiled. "If we weren't out in public, I'd hug you now."

There was the beginning of a shy smile on Javert's face. "What's stopping you?"

Valjean pretended to look around. "All these people?"

"It's not against the law."

"If it was against the law, my dear Javert, then my bed would be rather empty at night."

Javert paused. "You're probably right. _That _would be a real problem for me. Everything else we can deal with."

"I'm glad you see it that way."

The walked in silence for a while. "You know, Valjean, I was actually right all along," Javert finally said.

"About what?"

"About you."

"You're talking in riddles."

"Once a thief, forever a thief."

Valjean stopped abruptly and stared at Javert, half outraged, half hurt, not saying a word.

Javert also stopped and turned towards him. "However, you have gotten much better over the years. When you stole that bread, you were caught, but when you stole my heart, I didn't even notice at first."

Valjean glanced at his feet, then looked up again. His eyes, so wounded a second before, where shining with strange mixture of held-back tears and boldness. "How am I to be punished for this theft?"

Javert smiled, this time without any trace of shyness. "Well, considering the fact that this is not your first crime, we will have to choose a harsher sentence. This in turn necessitates heightened supervision. I think, for the sake of public safety, I cannot allow you to leave my side for more than a few hours for the rest of my life."


End file.
